Behold a Pale Horse
by smokeater159
Summary: Crossover between Far Cry 5 and Ghost Recon Wildlands, set at the end of both games. Rating it M For violence, language and potentially some sexual themes later on (depending on the direction it takes).


Hey All! This story is still very much in progress, this first chapter is a teaser to gauge interest. I am working diligently on it and trying to solve some writer's block for some other stories I am working on. Please be patient if you like it, and please review with thoughts and interests!

 **Chapter 1**

 **Where it All Began**

As she sat on the shore staring at the beautiful vista laid out before her, the fledgling Hope County Sheriff's Deputy slid home the bolt of her freshly cleaned Rock River 5.56 rifle. She scoffed to herself as she considered the title. _Deputy._ Could she even consider herself a true deputy? Despite her recently-minted name that her community had given her, she had only been off of her training period for three months before the shit hit the fan. Now she had spent the last four months in all-out guerrilla warfare in her own damn backyard.

"Listen up, Deputy," her radio chirped as Dutch's voice filled the air. "I'm thinking we've reached the end of the line. Time to cowboy up and deal with Joseph Seed once and for all. He's waiting for you at his church."

She took a last, long drag of her hand-rolled cigar before snuffing it in the sand.

"10-4 Dutch, I'm headed that way."

She stood and took a long, slow swig from her flask of Buffalo Trace as the sun began dropping in the sky. She stepped into the driver's seat of her 'borrowed' Peggie armored truck. She began driving north as a sense of foreboding set in. She quickly arrived at the long picket fences and sandbag defenses of Joseph Seed's church. Her nerves only increased when she saw there was not a soul around. She turned through the open gates and drove along the path. She turned into the open courtyard and slowly opened the door of the truck.

As she stepped out, she raised her rifle and quickly swept either side of her vehicle, looking for targets but finding none. She walked towards the curved, white gates with her rifle half raised and ready. She walked under the wrought-iron words 'Church of Eden's Gate' and approached the simple white church. Two barrels of bliss were steaming on either side of the door and she had to repress a shudder.

The sun had just begun to set over the mountains in the distance when suddenly the doors of the church burst open and out walked a shirtless Joseph Seed with his arms spread wide, a rosary in his left hand. He dropped his arms and looked skyward.

"And the lamb broke the fifth seal, and I saw under the altar the souls of the Martyrs, slain because of the Word of God."

He raised his fist and pointed at her, walking slowly forward. She stood her ground.

"You've made martyrs of my family…and I am prepared to do the same to yours."

He walked past her and she looked up as she heard movement. Towards her walked all of the people she had grown up with – the people she had spent long weeks fighting for and with. Deputies Hudson and Pratt and the Sheriff himself were forefront of the group, and all three had their hands bound behind their backs. Everyone else was free and armed – and showing the telltale aura of the Bliss. Her fellow deputies were forced to their knees as Joseph turned to face her again.

"But, God is watching us. And He will Judge us on what we choose in this moment. I told you that we were living in a world on the brink. Where every slight – every injustice… where every choice reveals our sins. And where have those sins led us? Where have those sins led you?

"Your friends have been taken and tortured and it's your fault. Countless people have been killed and it is your fault. The world is on fire…and it's your fault. Was it worth it? Was it? When are you gonna realize that every problem cannot be solved with a bullet."

Joseph raised his arms towards his church and began walking to it. "When you first came here, I gave you the choice to walk away." Joseph dropped his hands and turned back.

"You chose not to. In the face of God, I am making you that offer once last time. Put down your guns, and you take your friends. You leave me my flock…and you go in peace."

"Go in peace? You're fucking insane!" Hudson began to struggle against her restraints.

"Is he?" Pratt spoke up next, yet he sounded resigned…beat down. "We never should have been here in the first place."

The Sheriff looked up, a grim but determined look on his face. "You know what to do rook."

Seed looked skyward again and raised his arms once more. "Remember…God is watching."

She took a long, deep, rattling breath…and lowered her rifle, letting it rest against its sling. She slowly removed her hands as Seed raised his yet again.

"Judge not, and you will not be judged." He lowered his arms and places his hands on her shoulders, causing her to shudder once more. "Condemn not, and you will not be condemned. Forgive…and you will be forgiven. Take your friends my child…and go."

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead, she was unable to hide it this time, openly shuddering, which Seed ignored. The various members of the Sheriff's Department stood up, their restraints released by their bliss-controlled captors.

"Rook…let's go. We're leaving" The Sheriff turned towards the truck she arrived in and she began to follow before Hudson stopped her.

"What? What are you doing? Rook? Sheriff!"

The Sheriff turned back. "We're leaving. Rook, let's go, get in the truck"

Hudson squared up. "I'm not leaving!"

"Hudson get in the truck!" The Sheriff said.

"You've lost your fucking mind!" She yelled.

"Get in the Goddamn truck!" The Sheriff screamed before taking a breath. "Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone. Let's go."

The Deputy hesitated and then she walked slowly to the truck. She got into the passenger side and the Sheriff began to drive away. They rode in silence the length of the drive. When they reached the road, Hudson clearly could no longer remain silent.

"Sir, with all due respect…what the fuck. We can't just leave our people."

The Sheriff sighed in frustration. "We're not gonna leave those people. We're going to Missoula. We're going to get the national guard, and we're gonna bring the hammer down on that Goddamn place."

Pratt was visibly shaking in the back seat. "No. No way. I'm not gonna be a part of this, you heard what he said."

"You're gonna do exactly what you're told Pratt." The Sheriff said while looking back at him. He looked back to the road and reached down, turning on the radio. The opening guitar riff of "Only You" by _The Platters_ filtered out of the speakers. The Deputy's body went rigid and she immediately saw red at the edges of her vision.

"What's wrong?"

 _You are my destiny. When you hold my hand, I understand._ The only sounds audible to the deputy were screams and the sound of screeching tires.

 **August 13, 2018**

 **MOUNTAIN CAVE**

 **Itacua Province, Bolivia**

 **1640 local time**

"Got a rebel over here."

Nomad's headset buzzed with a brief burst of static as he surveyed the outpost ahead of him. They had been in-country for over a year; methodically dismantling the Santa Blanca cartel. The fighting had been increasing in intensity over the last few weeks as they finally closed in on their target. They had finally found a solid lead on his location and were minutes away from moving on him when everything went FUBAR. The rebels, their allies since setting foot on Bolivian soil, had turned on them and nearly killed them.

 _Not the first time fear and greed gave way to friendly fire._

"Alright boys, here's the plan. Once the sun starts to set, the sun is going to play hell with that sniper's sight lines. Weaver, you'll climb the tower and take his position then provide overwatch. Holt: me and you are going to head into the camp and get to work on the intel. The name of the game is sensitive document destruction – anything that can possibly point to us or the Company in any way gets taken. Midas, you secure our exfil. Something fast would be preferable."

A myriad of acknowledgements answered his orders as his men settled into their cave to await dusk. They would take shifts napping until it was time for action, with Nomad taking the first watch. He settled against a rock that appeared just slightly more comfortable than the surrounding stones. He took advantage of the down time to field strip and clean his Glock-19 and his Vector SMG, leaving his MK17 SCAR intact and hung tight against the single-point sling.

He checked his other equipment as well, and completed the ritual by booting up his ruggedized tablet and checking for any mission updates. He finished the routine status updates and was preparing to end the session when a message appeared on screen, emblazoned in red with the words _CRITICAL MISSION UPDATE._ Nomad quickly selected the missive and scanned the contents before his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Stand-to everyone, plans have changed. The Old Man wants a direct voice uplink ASAP."

Without being prompted, Holt shrugged off his pack and began power cycling the AN/PRC-117F satellite radio. While it ground into operation he unfolded the collapsible antenna and raised it to the sky at the edge of the cave they were hunkered in. After several moments, three soft beeps indicated the radio had established a solid connection.

"Kingslayer Main, this is Kingslayer Actual, over."

"Kingslayer Actual, this is main reading you five by five. How's it going out there son." The surprisingly clear voice of Brigadier General Scott Mitchell resonated through the cave.

"We are preparing our assault on the Rebel safe-house. We are prepared to commence in three hours-time plus or minus fifteen minutes. Sensitive Intel destruction and final exfil to follow."

"Belay that. We've had a situation develop in our own backyard. The story starts poorly and only gets worse. The 160th is inbound as we speak for immediate dust-off. Have your coordinates changed since your last communique?"

"Negative sir, we are still hunkered down in a cave near the base. Interrogative: What about the Intel? Katari's rebels aren't exactly the IRS but I'd still bet there are a lot of documents down there with sensitive data."

"We have that covered. Fourth Echelon just finished some backdoor computer crap to take care of digital copies, and we have a tried and true solution for the hard copies that's headed your way. Keep your head down, expect your ride in fifteen, one-five mikes. Kingslayer Main out."

With that the radio went silent and the four warriors looked at each other with bemused expressions.

"What in the shit was that all about?" Holt asked first.

"Beats the fuck out of me," Nomad replied. "I've never been pulled off mission like this before. Not in the middle of an OP. Grab your shit and get ready to roll, we'll find out soon enough I guess."

The order was fairly pointless, everyone's equipment was squared away in their packs just as it had been for the duration of the mission but there was no point in speculating when they had no way of discerning answers. Speculation was a fine mental exercise, but they were still in a combat zone after all. Nomad's musing was interrupted by Weaver.

"This whole thing stinks Tony. I don't like it."

"Me either brother, not one bit. I have a bad feeling about this. Save it for once we cross the border, right now keep your head on a swivel, self-defense or not we've killed a lot of rebels the last few days and the cartel hasn't disappeared yet either."

There was no further discussion for the next ten minutes as the men lurked and waited near the cave, ears sharp for any signs of approaching enemies or air traffic. Fortunately, they were in Itacua where there were slightly less SAM installations. Far fewer than when they first arrived at any rate.

"Cover! We have incoming!" Holt was suddenly running from the mouth of the cave, pulling his squadmates down with him as he dove around the corner. Nomad poked his head around in time to see two billowing white contrails headed straight for the base they had been preparing to assault when the entire area was suddenly one large firestorm.

"Shit balls!" Nomad observed. "Well, I guess plan B just arrived. Birds should be here soon."

Almost on cue, the tell-tale chop of rotors ripped through the air as a black hawk emerged through the smoke escorted by two Apaches. Midas pulled the pin from a green smoke grenade and tossed it out from the cave. After a few seconds, the Blackhawk pivoted towards the billowing column of green as the Apaches began rotated over the area, strafing any rebels who were foolish enough to attempt firing their AKs towards the sky.

The ghosts dashed for their ride, with Holt and Nomad arriving first and immediately pivoting to provide cover for their final two ghosts as they followed. All four men boarded the craft and they were airborne once again less than 30 seconds from touchdown.

"So long Bolivia. It's been real." Holt remarked.

As the country continued to shrink into the distance, Nomad's mind raced.

 **August 14** **th** **, 2018**

 **CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN MILITARY COMPLEX**

 **Secure Briefing Room**

 **Colorado Springs, Colorado**

 **1510 MDT**

The Ghosts were sitting next to each other at a long conference table clearly intended for a larger audience. After over a year in each other's company the Ghosts should want some time apart, however the men had become closer than family – the Warrior's Bond. Holt and Midas shamelessly slept without a sound as Nomad and Weaver both sipped from Styrofoam cups of coffee as Nomad put the final touches on his report. The coffee was lukewarm and not very strong but after months in Bolivia, it was the best coffee he had ever had.

Suddenly the door swung open wide, and Brigadier General Scott Mitchell, the legend himself, strode into the room.

"At ease men," Mitchell breathed as Nomad and Weaver leapt to attention, startling the other two members of their team who recovered quickly and snapped to their feet as well. "Excellent job does not quite begin to cover this. You men have exceeded every expectation and then some. Congratulations all.

"You'll excuse me if we stall the celebration. I apologize for the haste of this briefing but this situation is critical. Gentleman, we have some introductions to make. Bring them in, please."

The door opened again and three distinctly disheveled individuals walked in. To say they looked like hell would be an understatement. All three wore crumpled uniforms, emblazoned with patches that read Hope County Sheriff's Office. The leader was a white male who looked to be in his early fifties with long, shaggy hair and a respectable mustache. He had five stars pinned to his collar, apparently the Sheriff. Next in line was the first of two women, she was tall with raven hair pulled into a braid over her right shoulder and an intricate half-sleeve tattoo emblazoning her left arm. She had a fabric nametape over her right breast dubbing her as Hudson.

Finally, a short but incredibly attractive brunette brought up the rear. Her hair was pulled into a tight but messy bun on the top of her head. Her eyes, like her face, were beautiful but appeared absolutely haunted – the look of someone who had seen and done many terrible things. Nomad knew this look all too well. Despite her size she had an air of power about her – Nomad got the feeling she could take on anyone in the room – including himself – and hold her own. Nomad finally shook himself out of his stupor long enough to take note of her nametape: Roberts.

The trio took seats across from the ghosts. The Sheriff and Deputy Hudson looked wary but alert; Deputy Roberts, for some reason, looked withdrawn and beaten. The Sheriff leaned over to her and whispered something, patting her hand once. Roberts smiled dimly but it quickly faded to a grimace.

"Gentleman, this is Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, and Deputies Hudson and Roberts of the Hope County, Montana Sheriff's Department. The story I am about to tell you is…difficult to believe, but it has been vetted and I assure you it is accurate. Does anyone remember the Branch Davidian Cult?"

Holt spoke up first. "Yes sir. Horribly botched hostage situation that ended with a fifty-one-day siege of a cultist compound and resulted in 70-something dead, including multiple children."

"Unfortunately, that is correct. Even more unfortunate, this current situation makes Waco seem like a slight misunderstanding."

Mitchell spent the next quarter of an hour regaling them with a horrifying and unbelievable tale about a cult that had taken hold in the middle of Montana. Somehow, they had acquired military-grade weapons from fully automatic rifles to actual air support. Nomad listened with rapt attention and took mental notes. Mitchell finished outlining the cult's structure and moved into the admittedly impressive war that the ragtag group of resistance fighters had waged. Nomad waited patiently through the entire explanation, one question burning at the forefront of all the others.

"Sir," Nomad began when Mitchell opened the floor to questions. "I am not minimizing the situation, but why is this being handed to us? This sounds like an HRT gig."

Mitchell frowned as he regarded the question. He pointed to a map on the projector screen showing Hope County, emblazoned with three red circles in the North, South and East.

"These positions are former Titan-II ICBM launch facilities. They were decommissioned by Reagan in 1981. The DOD is still working to ascertain exactly how it happened, but somehow the Seeds took ownership of the silos and turned them into their own person bunkers. This is speculation, but we believe they obtained the nuclear material that was present in these weapons. Some analysts have found a few discrepancies in the records. There is no way to prove it at this point, but we are proceeding with the assumption that the Seeds now have nuclear weapons and will use them.

"The situation is unprecedented and highly volatile. Your primary objective is to locate and secure any nuclear material present. Secondary objective is to secure Joseph Seed. The leadership of the cult has been neutralized except for Joseph Seed. You will dismantle the remaining organization and neutralize Seed by any means necessary."

Holt raised his hand. "General, do we have any intelligence on opposition strength?"

"Unfortunately, we do not have firm numbers. The cult has been putting its message online and there have been thousands of 'pilgrims' venturing to the county. We have no way to gauge the exact count but we are estimating between a remaining 250 to 1500 hostiles. Our friends from the Sheriff's office have done an outstanding job of lowering that count substantially." Mitchell said with a respectful nod.

"Sir," Weaver piped up. "What kind of ROE are we talking about here?"

"Weapons free. Be smart; be discreet; be safe. We do not need any more dead civilians, but get it done. We have a lot more than one county at stake here. Get it done. If there are no other questions, you will be leaving in three hours. No cell phone service down here, landlines are down the hall; call your families, but be brief. Dismissed."

The military members stood to attention; the civilians stood respectfully but quickly sat back down dejectedly. Nomad was eager to talk to his son despite their recent issues, but he had more questions for the Sheriff's deputies.

"Deputies, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few more questions."

The Sheriff frowned but motioned for Nomad to take a seat.

"First of all, I wanted to say how impressed I am with the work that you have done. You have made the best of an impossible situation. That being said, I would like to know more about this 'bliss.' What is it, and how exactly does it work?"

"It is…honestly a nightmare." The sheriff began. "To be honest, I don't truly know how it works, we have a doctor investigating but he is a veterinarian, not a botanist. As best we can tell, it is some type of psychotropic drug that completely scrambles the mind of anyone who uses it. Turns perfectly functioning and intelligent people into mindless husks. The Seeds have been combining the drug's effects with incarceration and – for lack of a better term – brainwashing. It has led to…substantial problems."

Oddly, the female deputy – Roberts – began to squirm at this statement and the Sheriff placed a placating hand on her shoulder.

"Is there something I should know?" Nomad asked.

"It's been deal-"

"It has not been dealt with, Sheriff, I almost killed you. I did kill Pratt." Roberts said with tears in her eyes.

"Please explain." Nomad said.

"During the fight, I was captured several times. Each time I managed to escape, but as time went on, I believe at least some of those escapes were intended by the Seeds. The brainwashing…they combine it with the Bliss and then trigger you with a song. The song they used for me is "Only You" by _The Platters._ While we were escaping, it came on the radio. I…lost it. I saw red and snapped. They had to restrain me, and I killed Pratt in the struggle." Roberts was openly crying at this point but her voice never wavered. The sheriff tightened his grip on her arm.

"She's been examined by a doctor here on this base. They think they have isolated the remnants of the Bliss in her blood samples. They've extracted what they could and sent it off to some Army lab. They are working on an antidote and your General said they are confident they will have one in a few days. In the meantime, no more traces have been found in her blood and she has been exposed to the song with no effects." Whitehorse concluded forcefully.

"With respect sir, what if there is some other trigger that we aren't aware of? For all we know they might be putting a certain frequency into the song causing it. I'm not willing to take that risk."

Nomad considered this development in silence. He excused himself, stating he would return shortly and proceeded to General Mitchell's chair.

"Sir, may I have a word?" He asked.

"What's on your mind, Son?"

"The Deputies, General. Are they here for Intel only or do they have a role in this mission?"

Mitchell glanced at the trio before turning back to Nomad.

"They will be accompanying you. They know the terrain and the resistance, that knowledge will be imperative to completing your mission." He held up a hand as Nomad opened his mouth to respond.

"I understand your concern. Being civilians alone is problematic enough, but concerning this 'Bliss,' USAMRIID has the samples of Deputy Roberts' blood and should have an antidote developed within the week. It has type priority over all projects and the physicians there assure me it is very uncomplicated, it is simply not a drug they have encountered before. That being said, keep your eye on Roberts. After interviewing her, I have no qualms about her in her right mind, and I believe she has recovered from these drug attacks, but there is no way to guarantee it."

"And if she hasn't recovered?" Nomad asked quietly.

"Then do what you need to do. We cannot allow this mission to fail for one civilian, heroic though she may be."

"Understood, Sir." Nomad snapped a crisp salute and performed an about-face before returning to the deputies.

"You three will be returning with us." He stated without preamble. "I respect what you have done these last few weeks, but I need you to understand, this is our op. Any orders we give you, I expect you to follow without question, is that clear?"

The three glanced at each other before Sheriff Whitehorse responded with a muttered "Yes, Major."

"I'm sure we will have more questions, and we will continue the debriefing on our way out. Someone will show you where to go."

Nomad turned and left the briefing room, his only intent now was to speak to his son and to snag as long of a shower as time would allow.


End file.
